


this will be the last time

by lostin_space



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Bullying, Homophobic Language, Hopeful Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 08:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19314328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostin_space/pseuds/lostin_space
Summary: alex gets a second chance(title: first defeat by noah gunderson)





	this will be the last time

**Author's Note:**

> prompt sent to me by my friend, link on my tumblr: spaceskam because I don't know how to put links in the notes on here
> 
> (idk if i'd say graphic depictions of violence, but there's definitely a lot of violence)

“Did you eat breakfast?” **  
**

“Should I have?”

Irritated eyes turned Alex’s way, zeroing in on him as if he was an active target. Sometimes he thought that’s exactly what he was.

“You’ll have to walk to school, your brother isn’t here to take you and you’ve missed the bus. I’m assuming that alarm clock we got you isn’t functioning, is it?” his dad said. Alex gave a tight smile and wordlessly grabbed his bag, heading out the front door.

The walk to school wasn’t a bad one, but it sure as hell wasn’t one he wanted to make. The entire twenty-minute walk was spent debating if he should even go at all. What was the point? It was hell at school, hell at home, hell almost anywhere in between. Sometimes he considered hopping on a bus and just disappearing. No one would miss him.

Actually, maybe Kyle would. Who else would he call names and shove into lockers? Surely that would put a dent in his day.

He was almost angry with himself when he did indeed see the school come into view.  It had already started a few minutes prior, so maybe he’d be able to sneak in without having to face anyone who hated him.  Except everyone did, so maybe he wouldn’t be so lucky.

Alex couldn’t exactly pinpoint a day that everything went to shit. He recalled being a relatively happy kid. But then his brothers hit him. And then his dad joined in. And then kids at school started being mean. And then his mom left. And then his only friend joined the mean kids.  He knew it had to have happened over the course of at least a year, but, still, it felt like he blinked and everything had turned against him.

He’d tried being nice, but that didn’t help. He’d tried fighting back, but that just made them laugh. He tried making himself look scary so they’d back off‒that just made them laugh even more.  So, now, he just turned his brain off. If he turned his brain off for long enough, he could make it home and he could sneak out to the tool shed where he could have a moment of peace.  That’s what he lived for, that small moment of peace.

Only, today, he wasn’t sure he would get that moment.

“Hey, Manes!”

Cue High School Cliche #1. What was the point in giving them real names? The fact that they used his was a novelty and borderline comical. The fact that they could all casually alternate between ‘hey, fag’ and ‘hey, Alex’ so simply felt like a bad joke where he missed the punchline.

Alex kept walking. Brain off.

“I’m talking to you!”

_Do I still remember all the lyrics to La Vie en rose?_

“You listen when I talk to you!”

_Des yeux qui font baisser les miens…_

A large hand grabbed his shoulder, whipping his body around and slamming him into the lockers beside the boy’s bathroom. High School Cliche #1 looked really irritated. Alex stared back blankly.

_Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche…_

“It’s pretty gay to be dragging me into a bathroom,” Alex said mindlessly, almost smiling when he watched his face get beet red. Almost.

_Voilà le portrait sans retouches…_

“I am going to kick your ass.”

_De l’homme auquel j’appartiens…_

“Do it.  I dare you.”

_Quand il me prend dans ses bras…_

Alex was thrown against the sink as if he was a ragdoll, a sharp pain shooting up his spine and weakening his legs. He didn’t give a reaction. High School Cliche #1 sent punch after punch after punch to his face, kick after kick after kick to whatever he could. Alex ended up on his knees, the taste of blood in his mouth.

_Il me parle tout bas…_

“That’s it?” Alex dared. Maybe he shouldn’t have. High School Cliche #1, whose name suddenly became in focus with ‘ _LONG_ ’ written on his Letterman Jacket, grabbed Alex by the hair. Apparently, simple instigation meant brutal violence.  His head was slammed against the sink once, twice, three times before he landed on the floor with a thud and his own blood quickly pooling around him.

_Je vois la vie en rose._

“Oh. Oh, fuck.” Long seemed to very suddenly understand what he’d done after he’d done it.  Alex could barely focus long enough to see him flee.

As his world started to blur and the pain began to fade, Alex really couldn’t even be angry. A large part of him hoped this was it. If he died now, he wouldn’t have to deal with anything anymore. That sounded good. That sounded really good.

He let his eyes close, let his consciousness start to fade.

Except, before it could, he was overcome with the feeling that he wasn’t alone.

Not just not alone in the room, not alone in his head. For the first time in a long time, panic started to rise in him and he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die with someone else there. He wanted peace. How could he have peace with someone else in his head? Could he not even get that in his final moments? Why was everything so unfair?

“Alex,” the voice was in his head, but a blurry vision started to appear when he forced his eyes open. A girl was there, a girl who looked way too fucking familiar, but not familiar enough to be haunting his almost-dead state.  Isobel motherfucking Evans. Why the fuck was she here?  “Alex,” she repeated, worry on her face. She was glowing, hazy lights surrounding her and making her look ethereal and otherworldly and  _perfect_.

“What the fuck?” he asked. Or, intended to ask. His speech wasn’t exactly intact.

She didn’t say anything, but she knelt down before him.  Her hands placed carefully on his head and his body was suddenly thrown into a state of shock.  Bolts of electricity racked through him and all he could do was stare and gasp and try to rationalize what the fuck was going on.

But then it stopped. And nothing hurt. And he sat up and he wasn’t bleeding.  There was still blood‒but his wounds were closed.

The ethereal vision of a woman that shouldn’t be there leaned her forehead against his, cupping his face in her palms. He felt stupid and weak, but it was the nicest way anyone had touched him in years and he leaned into it instead of being scared anymore.

One last word in her deep voice echoed in his mind: “Karma’s your bitch.”  And then she was gone.

Alex blinked a few times, the haziness in his head clearing up each time.  Once it was gone, he managed to pull himself to his feet.  He looked in the mirror, checking his face and his head.  Any sign of a bruise or an open wound was gone, but the blood from it all was still there. It made him a little sick and a little confused and a little insane.

But one thing was certain: he’d been given a second chance.  He didn’t have to die today.  In fact, he could do so much better.  He could live.  He could  _enjoy_  living.

His hands were still shaking as he exited the bathroom, his bag in tow and covered in as much blood as he was.  Instead of going to class, he made his way to the gym.  A few of the first period PE students glanced at him, but, for the most part, no one gave him the time of day.

He slipped into the locker room and went towards the shower. He didn’t stay long, only spending a few minutes to clear all the obvious blood out of his hair and his face and hoping his clothes didn’t look too wet and/or bloody.  It was a step.

When Alex finished and turned around, he found himself face to face with High School Cliche #1, Long.  The guy, as big and as scary as he had seemed, looked scared shitless at this moment.  He was looking at Alex with all the fear in the world as he tried to piece together how the boy he’d left bleeding out on the floor was now perfectly fine.

Alex stepped close, Isobel’s words vivid in his mind.  The thing about karma was that you get what you put out.  Alex may not have been putting out enough to get beaten, but he wasn’t exactly putting out anything good.  But the vision had solidified something in his head.  Everyone who did him wrong would get what was coming.

And, if he changed, he would too.

“Don’t worry, I forgive you,” Alex said, patting him on the shoulder. He flinched so hard that Alex had to hold back a laugh.  “But I would tell your friends if I were you.”

He stepped out of the locker room with a skip in his step.

**Author's Note:**

> if you think there's any tags i missed, please feel free to let me know because I'm horrible at it!


End file.
